


Stay The Same

by det395



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Getting Together, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22760557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/det395/pseuds/det395
Summary: It's the first day of the rest of the world and they're free to do anything they want. Which, as it turns out, is kind of terrifying.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 76





	1. Chapter 1

_ Saturday, 22:17 _

His brain goes quite blank all of a sudden. Aziraphale stares forward and waits for his mind to catch up before giving anything away on his face.

He had only tried to steady himself on the seat while the bus pulled away, but his hand had gone straight into Crowley’s. Was this  _ his  _ doing? Did he grab Crowley’s hand? Was it an accident? 

Whatever it might have been, Crowley keeps holding his hand and stares forward. Aziraphale so wants to pluck his sunglasses off his face.

He won’t lie, he’s enjoyed their closeness up until now. There was a boundary, a safe barrier from changing too much. He liked how they were. Well, maybe they could try to see each other a tad more than they do now, have lunch say, once, twice a week. He reckons the warmth of this hand isn’t so bad. Maybe he wouldn’t have to leave so soon all the time, as the sun went down and their time together felt like an alarm about to ring. A shift like this, well, imagine the possibilities.

Aziraphale’s train of thought halts as Crowley twitches.

“A miracle,” Crowley says, lifting their hands in the air and shaking it. Aziraphale stares at their fingers, interlocked, right in front of his eyes.

“Well,” Aziraphale shifts his eyes back and forth, giving a shy smile. “I reckon it is—”

“A miracle is what we need, to switch  _ faces _ .”

“Pardon me?” 

“We switch places, bodies, whatever,” he says like it’s obvious. He lets their hands fall to the seat again.

Aziraphale stares forward, furrowing his eyebrows. 

“You… just might be right,” he whispers. “If they were to…” he nods approvingly.

“This Nutter better know what she’s fucking…” Crowley turns away and Aziraphale can only hear mumbling. Crowley's hand squeezes his and Aziraphale’s insides clench.

“Hm?” He says, leaning forward to look at him. 

Crowley looks back at him. “If we messed up, you’d get punished by hell.” He twists his face up.

“Oh. That would not be ideal.”

“If I got down there, they’d wish hell was their salvation,” he says through his teeth. 

Aziraphale feels his fingers being crushed, which is fine.

“Heaven wouldn’t be very nice for you. Oh Lord, the holy water.” He worries at his coat button with his unoccupied hand.

Crowley leans over him and looks to the front. They press back into the seats as the bus accelerates and the street lights begin zipping by one after another.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale scolds. 

Crowley just purses his lips as the bus speeds and screeches around corners, making them sway back and forth. Aziraphale points out each ignored stop sign with disappointment, but when the bus pulls up to the front of Crowley’s house, he sighs in relief.

Crowley finally drops his hand and Aziraphale trails behind, wiping his sweaty palm on his trousers.

He walks inside and spins to take the room in. He runs his hand along a lush green leaf, moist and smooth in his fingers.

“Lovely,” he compliments the plant, ignoring Crowley’s glare. He thinks that’s rather unnecessary right now.

Crowley pulls a bottle of wine out of somewhere and fills up two glasses, shoving one in Aziraphale’s hand before walking on. He follows him into another room and sits stiffly at a dark table. He peers around but there’s not much to see. 

Crowley reaches for the remote but seems to think better of it. He pulls his chair a bit closer to Aziraphale and sits back with the glass to his lips, then knocks their heels together.

They stay up all night. Aziraphale wipes up the spilt holy water and then tosses the rag into a neighbours trash can. He nibbles on a soft apple he finds. He peeks around the dark, musty house, and strokes the houseplants that reach out to him with desperation.

They catch each other up on their experiences, everything that led them here.

The future is predictable to an uncertain end, so they don’t mention it. 

When there are two full and recorked wine bottles sitting on the table and an inch of sunlight peeking through the blinds, Crowley stands.

“Is it time, already?” Aziraphale stays sitting, rubbing his thighs.

“9am workday. Think we’re top of the agenda.”

Aziraphale pushes himself up and brushes out the wrinkles in his trousers. “Quite likely.”

Crowley steps closer and offers his hand. Aziraphale stares at it. 

“Quite a weird feeling, travelling into different bodies.” Aziraphale shivers. “And the time in between, unsettling.”

“Hm.”

“I suppose we’ll see if we do explode. Angel-demon, demon-angel. What a concept.”

“You alright, Angel?” Crowley asks.

“Have to call me demon now,” he jokes, chuckling. Crowley smiles at him, and the lack of contempt throws Aziraphale off for a moment. He grabs Crowley’s hand. 

Crowley’s very warm. Aziraphale wonders if it will feel nice and warm to be him.

“Still an angel in my skin.” 

Aziraphale clears his throat. Crowley just stares at him and Aziraphale smiles shyly.

“Well,” Crowley finally says, shifting his weight. “Shall we?”

“On ten,” Aziraphale says.

“On  _ ten _ ? You think we have an eternity to stand here? Three, two…”

“Oh, one!”

He watches as Crowley’s figure shifts, lightens, changes until he’s looking into a mirror that smiles back at him. No, not a mirror, he’s covered in black fabric now. 

And worse, it’s twill.

“Hmmph,” he says to show his disdain.

Crowley looks down and presses his hands against his, well, Aziraphale’s torso. He nods approvingly. Aziraphale reaches out and fixes the lopsided bow tie, fiddling until it’s perfect.

“Meet for ice cream?” Crowley-as-Aziraphale says. 

“Alright. And stop slouching, it’s not a good look on me.”

His own face smiles briefly but turns away quickly. Aziraphale watches himself walk out the door.

He puts a hand up on his cheek, just to feel it.


	2. Chapter 2

_ Monday, 00:32 _

“—but the absolute best time was when Gabriel drank some of my lemon water to see what all the fuss was about with human food. It was after I had dipped my fingers in, too!” He chuckles and watches Crowley laugh, tipping his head back lazily. Their laughter slowly dies down and Aziraphale lifts a glass to his mouth and smiles through it. His face is flushed.

Crowley leans forward on his elbow and watches Aziraphale, his eyes peeking out over the top of his sunglasses.

“It is late, you know,” Crowley says. Aziraphale looks to the windows to see the dim evening only illuminated by yellow street light.

“Oh! What do you say, just one more course of desserts?” Aziraphale says, putting his napkin back on his lap and smoothing it out.

Crowley cocks his head, watching him.

Aziraphale looks around the room again, noticing a waitress standing by the wall. He smiles warmly and waves but she only glares. He falters and looks past her to the room that has gone strangely dim, and somehow empty. The spectacular live music has also stopped, only his voice travels across the room.

Crowley raises his eyebrows and smiles. “What do you say we call it a night?”

“Well, alright,” he grumbles.

Crowley puts his hand up and the waitress hurries over with the bill already clasped in her hands. She smiles expectantly behind tired eyes. Aziraphale watches Crowley write in an absolutely absurd gratuity. He supposes today  _ has  _ been decadent. Lunch, dessert, drinks, appetizers, supper, dinner, and three more courses of desserts, all with drinks scattered in. The Bordeaux to  _ die _ for.

He puts his hand on his own wallet but Crowley doesn’t even look at him. 

“A special occasion?” The waitress asks, her eyes bugging out at the receipt. 

“Anniversary,” Crowley says.

“Oh! I’d offer you a dessert, but, uh, the cooks have gone home.”

“It’s alright, this one here had all of them,” Crowley says.

Aziraphale blushes.

The waitress looks a lot happier now, staring at the last receipt as they walk out. The night is cold, the streets are barely a rumble of noise. It’s almost like no one knows the world was supposed to be eviscerated by now. Perhaps if they knew, there would be more celebrating. Maybe restaurants wouldn’t close all night, all  _ week,  _ and they could try a bottle of wine from every vineyard in the world.

“Anniversary?” Aziraphale asks.

“Well, it’s going to be.”

“Hm. I suppose. First day of the rest of the world. Second, now.” He walks slower when he sees the Bentley. Crowley saunters back and forth. He had less food, more alcohol. 

He fiddles with his fingers, wondering if he’s overstaying their, well, companionship. When Crowley opens the door and stares at him expectantly, he changes his mind about offering to get a car. 

“Can’t wait to see my bookshop again. My new editions, too,” he says, making conversation as Crowley climbs in, hiccuping.

“You’re not going to drive with all this alcohol in your system,” Aziraphale says, sternly.

Crowley sighs. “I’ll get rid of  _ half. _ ” 

“All!” Aziraphale scolds.

Crowley turns in his seat to face Aziraphale and takes off his glasses. He tilts his head.

“If I do, you have to invite me to your bookshop to have more.”

Aziraphale nods. He watches Crowley close his eyes in concentration and groan quietly. He quickly recovers and gets his hand on the stick shift, pulling out blindly. Aziraphale grabs the handle. It’s actually kind of fun, but he doesn’t want Crowley to know that.

“Kind of miss the fire, you know? What’s better than a Bentley, a—”

“A flaming Bentley, yes,” Aziraphale finishes. Crowley has told him the story three times today. 

Crowley shoves in a tape into the stereo and taps on his steering wheel. 

_ Tonight, I’m gonna have myself a real good time, I feel alive…  _

“You still want to come over?” Aziraphale asks.

Crowley looks at him for a long time so Aziraphale watches the road for him. He ignores the question.

“What was that? I mean, staying at the Ritz for 14 hours was a bit much, even for you.”

“I—” Aziraphale sputters for ten seconds before getting a hold of himself. “I was celebrating.”

“You’re putting something off.” 

“Red light!” Aziraphale yells and Crowley screeches to a stop just before the intersection.

_ I’m a shooting star leaping through the sky like a tiger, defying the laws of gravity…  _

“We could celebrate anywhere, go anywhere, do  _ anything  _ now. Why are you still so uptight?” 

“I am  _ not  _ uptight, I’m quite… ‘chill’. The world isn’t ending, after all, it’s great news!”

“It is!”

“Yes.” 

“Then what’s up with you?”   
  
“Nothing.”

Crowley groans loudly and doesn’t say more until they pull up to the bookshop.  _ Two hundred degrees that’s why they call me Mr. Fahrenheit. Hey, travelling at the speed of light I wanna make a supersonic— click _ . The voice dwindles to a warped end. Crowley stalks out of the car without waiting.

Aziraphale switches on lamps as he slowly walks around the bookshop, running his eyes along each shelf and picking up some new appearances to read a few pages. It  _ is  _ delightful, and he will keep them no matter how out of place they are. He runs his finger across wood but there is only dust, no ash. The bookshop lives on with another chance.

He eventually walks in to see Crowley sitting in the dark with his feet propped up on the chair. Aziraphale turns on a lamp and plops next to him. A half-full wine bottle is shoved into his hands.

He drinks quietly for a minute without speaking. Crowley leans back into the couch and closes his eyes. Aziraphale wonders what he’d do if Crowley fell asleep right here. 

He doesn’t want to be left alone anymore.

“Everything’s changing, right? It was nice to have a purpose but now we just have to… be.” He says it, unsure if Crowley is awake or listening. It takes a while for him to lift his head.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Crowley slurs.

“Yeah…” Aziraphale says, utterly unsure.

“We can just be friends, for the sake of being friends.”

“I don’t want to leave my bookshop,” Aziraphale says.

“Huh?” Crowley turns to look at him, throwing an arm over the back of the couch.

Aziraphale just takes a glug of wine.

“I suppose I can move in here, though the windows face east,” Crowley mumbles.

“Move in?”

Crowley makes a strange noise at the back of his throat. “I don’t have to move in. I can visit.”

“But how often?”

“Whenever you want me to.”

  
Aziraphale shakes his head.

“Or never, whatever.” He snatches the wine bottle back and drinks quickly.

“You want to travel. I just want to be here,” Aziraphale says.

Crowley sighs then puts a hand on his thigh. It’s warm, even through his trousers.

“Angel,” he says, quietly. 

Aziraphale looks over at him expectantly.

“I have nothing to run from anymore.”

“Hm. Oh.”

“I don’t want to leave. Unless you want to go to France for some bloody crepes, I will gladly nap on this sofa for the next eternity,” he says, patting Aziraphale’s thigh. Aziraphale grabs the wine bottle for a sip. It’s nearly empty already.

“I have a much more comfortable bed in the upstairs,” he says. 

“Hm,” Crowley says, his voice high-pitched and approving. He takes back the wine and finishes it.

“Hm,” Aziraphale echos. 

“Y’know. You really are a twat sometimes,” he says matter-of-factly. Aziraphale glares at him.

Aziraphale scoffs. “I should check the bibles,” he says, beginning to stand.

Crowley grabs his collar roughly, balling it up in his fist and yanking Aziraphale back down. Aziraphale pushes his hand away and quickly smooths out the poor fabric with a glare on his face.

Crowley’s voice is much softer than before. “I might stay the night. I could use a rest.”

“Where will I rest? If I, y’know, wanted to.”

Crowley gives him that look again and squeezes his leg. The shift wasn’t a figure of his imagination, after all. Or, it doesn’t have to be. They are free. Crowley might stay, for good. Or they’ll at least find each other in the end, here, in his own space. How lovely that would be.

Aziraphale stands. He can hear Crowley set the wine bottle down on the desk and pad behind him, so he keeps walking. Christ, his hands are sweating again. 

His bed isn’t particularly comfortable, he doesn’t spend much time here, but some time in the dark doesn’t sound too bad. He closes the blinds. 

“Could use some plants, or something,” Crowley says, walking around the small area. He ends up plopping down on the bed and crawling up to the head, making himself right at home. He kicks off his shoes and flings them over the edge with his toes. Aziraphale stands and watches, his hands linked in front of him.

“Angel. Stop being in such a tizzy. Just…” His voice cuts off. “Tell me I’m not crazy here.”

Aziraphale reacts to that by gently toeing off his shoes and setting them by the wall. 

“No, you’re not.” He lays stiffly on the side of the bed.

“Dunno ‘bout you, but I’m getting more comfortable.” Crowley snaps his fingers and Aziraphale looks over to see Crowley in his undergarments. This view is even nicer than looking down at his own morphed body in the bath of holy water. He looks back up to the ceiling, concentrates, and is suddenly in a matched set of striped pyjamas. 

Aziraphale looks over at him sternly.

“I tend to get… attached to you, if too long goes on. Don’t make me regret it,” he says.

“Are you trying to intimidate me, sitting there in your PJ’s?”

Aziraphale scoffs. 

“You ever been attached to someone else before?” Crowley asks.

“Well, when I was at the Gentleman’s Club…” 

“Oh shut it, I don’t want to hear it,” Crowley growls.

Aziraphale hesitates. “You?”

“No. Not like you.”

“Oh. Well in that case, by those parameters, me neither.”

Crowley visibly relaxes. 

“Guess it can’t be the same as others when you’re a demon, that’s quite rare.”

“Shut  _ up, _ ” he draws out his words. 

“Okay, so. We both have some sort of… attachment to each other. That’s fine. Who’s going to say it's not fine? It’s fine.”

“We’ll get used to it,” Crowley says.

“I suppose so,” Aziraphale says. “Now, to set our new arrangement, how shall we go about that?”

“Fucking hell, just…”

“What?”

“Will you come closer, and turn over?” Crowley demonstrates by twirling his finger. 

Aziraphale clears his throat and slowly shuffles over. He feels movement and then long, lanky limbs drape over him and settle down. They are warm and encompassing. Crowley’s face is right behind his neck, he can feel it.

“Humans like to sleep together,” Crowley explains.

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Shh.”

Aziraphale breathes out and lets his body untense. He closes his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

_ Four and a half months after the world began again _

The plants can be used to block door signs, windows, and rare collections. It works quite well. When someone sticks their head through the branches to read an unsellable title, Crowley is the one to yell at them and shield the leaves from rough hands. Crowley gets people to leave better than Aziraphale ever could, they have almost no customers!

Well, maybe they do. They’re out of the bookshop quite often. Not far, just far enough for good food and bothersome ducks.

There was also that time they slept for three months. It’s a surprise it was that short. Those furnace cleaners were too ruthless about getting inside.

Aziraphale can partake in other human activities that were too devilish to do before, too. Like mobile phones. He doesn’t have anyone to text at the moment, except for when Crowley goes for a drive. Sometimes Madame Tracy will have a chat with him, too.

It’s all exactly what he wants. Years of tiring assignments have worn him down, and he can be a little selfish now. And honestly, doing miracles for nice strangers he meets out in the street of London feels much nicer now. Crowley’s miracles for rude businessmen are much more humorous, too.

The first time Crowley kisses him is also a nice moment. It was something he regarded thoughtfully before, and he knew he’d be happy whether or not it happened. He doesn’t need to make an effort in the end. It seems to come out of nowhere, though he later discovers it was sparked because of the miracle he did to make the Gabriel-lookalike businessman fall in the river.

He’s pushed against a bookshelf first. It’s not hard enough to push it over but when Crowley’s face is against him, his wings make a sudden appearance, rip out of his back and spread wide and send the bookshelf flying. He’ll need to fix that later.

It’s not the wings that make him float. It’s actually because Crowley keeps accidentally miracle-ing him to levitate so he can pull him towards the stairs, despite the angel's objections. 

It’s another human temptation Aziraphale doesn’t feel an ounce of guilt for. Hell, he’s practically a fallen angel now. 

He quite enjoys the look of their feathers resting against one another. He’s beginning to spot some gray spots speckled around, right at the place where Crowley’s wings meet his spine.

**Author's Note:**

> reblog on tumblr [here](https://det395.tumblr.com/post/190863773417/stay-the-same) if you'd like!


End file.
